Mad World
by Clez
Summary: Some people find it harder to admit to certain truths than others, as one particular vampire discovers when receiving a visit from a certain American spy...


**Author's Note: **This is – surprise, surprise – read along with the song titled _'Mad World'_. It is the extended version, and to be daring, I have inserted the lyrics that go along. It's up to you really whether or not they are fitting. It was going to be one of two ideas, so I just stuck the CD on repeat, and this is what I came up with... it's intended to be quite melancholy. P.s. I think the format messed up a little. Hopefully it won't affect the pace etc. It wouldn't let me insert the repetition of the words 'Mad World' towards the end in between all the paragraphs, but I've just cut them out, and I'm afraid you'll have to use your imagination.

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                The pen darted across the paper steadily, scratching, the ink jotting down notes and theories as it always did, driven by the brain of a chemist, an intelligent beautiful – and secretly deadly – woman sitting at the desk over her notebook, surrounded by her experiments, test tubes and vials. 

_All around me are familiar faces   
Worn out places   
Worn out faces_

                Her thoughts carried along a different track than her mind, chasing chaotically after meaning and reason other than the science she so loved. It was pursuing explanation and comprehension in a sea of confusion. 

                She had thought she had loved Dorian Gray... she so had. He had broken her heart once, and missed the second time... when striking with a sword instead of words and actions. It had hurt both times, ripping into her savagely and scolding her more than she had ever thought possible for a vampire to experience.

_Bright and early for the daily races   
Going nowhere   
Going nowhere_

                Her blue eyes rose from the papers, her head throbbing lightly with perplexity, and she removed her spectacles with one hand, laying them gently on her books and pressing the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger with a sigh.

                "Is anything the matter, Mrs. Harker?" came the soft masculine voice from the doorway, and her head turned to greet the unannounced arrival. It was Special Agent Tom Sawyer... Thomas Sawyer... Tom. He stood there, hands in his pockets, leaning ever so casually on the frame of the door and looking in at her with hazel flecked green eyes filled with concern and admiration, his tousled blonde feathery hair all on his brow youthfully. He offered her a weak, and mischievous smile, the expression shifting his handsome face ever so slightly as he watched her.

                "No," she breathed softly, a whisper as if of the wind through the leaves, "not exactly. Just a headache."

_Their tears are filling up their glasses   
No expression   
No expression_

                Tom took it upon himself to stride into the room on booted feet, his pacing oddly quiet on the carpeted floor. He removed his hands from his pockets, and walked to stand over her, asking, "Anything I can do?"

                Wilhelmina Harker looked up at the boy – for that was truly what he was in comparison to her, or so some would say – and sighed. "Not unless you have any painkillers," she offered with a slight smile touching her lips.

_Hide my head I wanna drown my sorrow   
No tomorrow   
No tomorrow_

                Their eyes met briefly, before she looked back down at her scribbled notes, neat but vastly scrawled in their own silly way. She saw flashes of their last mission played swiftly in her head, flickering snapshots of action. She saw Tom's entrance into the _League_, where he had offered his services, and been the one to distract the marksmen long enough for the others to spring into action. She saw his bravery in Venice when in the automobile, as he sat up in his seat and let loose a hailstorm of bullets from his six-shooters at the snipers with an almost savage shout of excitement and fury. She thought about his compassion as he had looked down on Ishmael beside her as the man died, and then how he had asked her if she was all right before the bombs. She saw how he had helped with the repairs without a complaint. She saw his enthusiasm... his earnesty... and his heart.

_And I find I kind of funny   
I find it kind of sad   
The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had   
I find it hard to tell you   
I find it hard to take   
When people run in circles it's a very very   
Mad world   
Mad world_

                Her blue eyes floated back up to meet his face, and she found no words came to her, for once... she was silent.

                "... Mrs. Harker? Are you sure you're all right?" he asked gently, his slight southern drawl oddly soothing all of a sudden, charming and delicate. She wished to smile, but the expression faltered and died before it reached her face. Their eyes met again, locking in false understanding, and possible contemplation.

_Children waiting for the day they feel good   
Happy birthday   
Happy birthday_

                "I," she began, halting, and then forcing herself to finish, "I was just thinking about the mission."

                Tom Sawyer placed a single hand back in the slack pocket of his trousers, and gazed at his feet. Her words had brought up melancholy musings of Allan Quatermain, the adventurer who had died to save the American's life. She felt the sadness emanate from him physically.

_And I feel the way that every child should   
Sit and listen   
Sit and listen_

                She stood from her chair, still at least two or three feet from him, and spoke gently, "Your bravery... your compassion... I realise only now that we could not have succeeded without you."

                "Don't say that," he challenged in little above a whisper, eyes focused on the carpet around his feet, as if feeling uncomfortable.

                "You lifted our spirits when we were ready to quit, Agent Sawyer," she told him, addressing him formally as was the appropriate behaviour, "and you saved Venice. You destroyed Professor Moriarty, and if you had not... then the world could very well be at war now."

                "What difference does it make that I pulled the trigger?" His eyes rose to meet hers then, and did not waver or stray. "If it hadn't been me... it would've been Quatermain."

                "He died to _save_ you, because he felt you had more to offer than a tired old hunter who had seen too much in his years... he gave his life willingly. You should not grieve so deeply for the loss."

_Went to school and I was very nervous   
No one knew me   
No one knew me_

                The expression that crossed his youthful face was one of confusion and disbelief. "How can you say that?"

                She took a step towards him. "You misunderstand me..." she eased before he could retort further. "I only mean that he saw in you the potential to fulfil many great tasks. He was old... weary. He had accomplished much. You are young, Tom..." she paused at the pronunciation of his name... his _name_, before pressing on, "and you have many things to live for."

                "A job in the American Secret Service..." he offered her quietly, "and a place in the _League_. What are those compared to what he did... what he _could_ do?"

_Hello teacher tell me what's my lesson   
Look right through me   
Look right through me_

                She did not wish to discuss Quatermain any longer; not that she had despised the man. He had been difficult, yes, but she had truly felt as though she had grown close as a friend to the hunter. His death had struck the _League_ a powerful blow. All thoughts of a betraying immortal were forced from her mind, as she looked into those soulful light eyes. What was she doing? Why was she behaving so irrationally? She had been married... fallen in love with Dorian Gray... and now she found herself transfixed by a young American spy. She almost smiled.

                But as she regarded him, the new realisation as to his behaviour during the mission playing continuously in her head, she could not pull her eyes away, stop herself from staring, as she said, "Tom... you can do anything you set your mind to. I have seen it in you... you just do not realise it yet. Anything you desire enough can be yours, and you can accomplish great things. All you need to do... is try."

_And I find I kind of funny   
I find it kind of sad   
The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had_

                The American hung his head for a moment, before taking a step towards her then, and hovering close. They were of similar height, and so the proximity did not feel so intense, but still rather intimate... more intimate than she was accustomed when in regards to Tom Sawyer. But she did not pull away from him. 

                "You mean..." he began in a light voice, and brought his head up to meet hers again, their faces close, "... like this?" 

_I find it hard to tell you   
I find it hard to take_

                And she did not pull away when he bowed his head to hers, and kissed her gently. It was only for a moment, but it was tender and affectionate, and when the young man brought his head away, she remained silent, simply staring.

                "I'm sorry," he muttered, and turned to walk to the door.

                 She watched him for a moment as he retreated, still trying to recuperate from the action she had expected of him from the day they had met but never truly accepted as possible. Nor had she realised she had yearned for it... if only secretly. She remembered her smile at his marksmanship in the automobile in Venice. She remembered her coy behaviour on the conning tower when she had shunned him... if only light-heartedly to try and get at Dorian possibly, who knew? She remembered her concern and tenderness in regards to his slight injury after he had saved the Italian city... all these things flooded back to her now with startling clarity.

_When people run in circles it's a very very   
Mad world   
Mad world_

                "Wait," she said suddenly, urgently, almost a gasp.

                Tom turned his head from the door with a furrowing of the brow, his hand on the grip of the door as if to pull it closed behind him.

                "Don't leave," she said to him quietly, his eyes meeting hers and staying. 

                He hesitated only a moment, and then closed to the door, staying in the room instead of retreating altogether. He turned, and walked back to her, one hand still in his pocket. An odd silence fell over the room, heavy and slightly uncomfortable as they regarded one another at length.

                Then she pressed forward, touched a hand softly to the side of his face, and pressed her lips to his in a kiss. It was far gentler than anything she had ever bestowed upon Gray... less forceful, but carrying a hidden passion she had kept concealed from even herself since the day she and Tom had met. Who would have thought it? A vampire and a spy... almost the imaginings from fiction.

                He pulled his hand from his pocket, and touched it to her waist as if testing she was truly real, surprised to find the real Mina Harker kissing him, and he her in return. He gave in more then, leaning into her slightly, and bringing his other hand to hold her, inwardly stunned at her sudden show of affection, unsure as to whether or not she was toying with him.

                Mina allowed the kiss to grow more passionate; hungry for his taste, his smell, his touch... he reciprocated, as her fingers played through the hair at the back of his skull, almost possessively.

                Locked in each other's embrace, the vampire and the spy gave in to their hidden desires...

_Enlarging your world   
Mad world..._

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**A/N2:** Love it or hate it, especially the place where I left it, let me know. I'd like opinions... on all aspects of the fic really. Whether or not... oh you get the idea. Now that you've read it, you know what to do...


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